Losing The Love Of My Life

I left my high school sweetheart with fear, a mother of two, whose body had eroded since from her youth, older, jaded, divorced, inexperienced. I dated every player in my city in hopes of finding a good man who wouldn’t play games with my heart and mind, who wouldn’t jeopardize my emotional well being or my body. The truth is, I didn’t know how to date yet. I was mistaking physical want for true desire and intimacy. I became frustrated, cynical, my dreams of finding a great love diminished.

My Love took me by surprise, entered my life with the sweetest smile and kindest eyes. It was serendipity. We shared a chemistry and adoration from the first hello. He held my hand, assured me of his intentions. He would be intimate with only me. He no longer had interest in pursuing his open lifestyle and he craved to be the center of one woman’s affections, a woman that wanted only him. We spoke at length about our needs, our desires, our fears, our truth. It was honest. It was safe. We made agreements with and promises to each other. We found hope again. We had excitement. We shared chemistry. We had a chance at something really fantastic. We held hands and sprinted down a path together with nothing but the purest of intentions.

We fell madly, passionately in love.

He was my dream man who taught me how to love. When I saw myself reflected in his eyes, I felt beautiful on the inside and the out. He gained my trust and proved to me that I was worthy of being loved.

Our four years together was a whirlwind. I have never experienced such trust, such love, such friendship and such intense, searing passion. But our story was a sad one; two lovers destined to meet and love each other, bitterly torn apart and now bordering that fine line of love and hate.

In times of strife we started to flail and struggle. I began to drown in my anxiety and pending depression feeling him being pulled away from me. I became unrecognizable and he became a distant stranger.

I close my eyes at night and I can still feel the taught smoothness of his skin beneath my fingertips. I can breathe his scent. My heart skips a beat at the memory of his raspy morning voice. My body reacting to the slightest of his touches. I wake every morning to a gaping hole in my chest, hitting me between the ribs, taking my breath away. Tears spring to my eyes, pool on my lids, stream down my cheeks and absorb into my pillow.

I was never lonely – until I lost him. But I must go on. I mourn him and pray that this horror will end. I pray he will remember what we had, who I was before the world crashed around me and I became a shell of my former self. I pray all the nightmares end and he is holding me in his arms, whispering our private sentiments in my ear and I giggle with delight.

He called me his Raven Muppet. I long to be that girl again. That girl was confident and strong, happy and hopeful, silly and playful. This girl left behind is sad. She can be desperate, pathetic and weak. She’s bitter and angry. She’s hurt. I fear she’s too broken. He left her and a part of her died. This is what’s left and he can’t stand it. But he created it. Then he used it as a reason to stay away. The bitterness grows. I want to reach out to him when great things happen and share my delight. I want to reach out to him when bad things happen and lean on him just a little for his calm, cool outlook, his rational mind and strong, supportive shoulder. But he’s no longer within my reach. I am nothing to him now.

Slowly I’m healing. There are days in which I cope fine and I’m back to myself again, a busy professional with a demanding career, a single mother with two children very active in sports. I nurture friendships and will not allow them to slip away. I date. I hope that I will be loved again and that I will love again. But nobody compares.

I don’t want to be alone. But I will not settle. My Love was my perfect man. He was the love of my life. We had that rare chemistry that would last a lifetime. I adored everything from his educated intelligence and quiet confidence, his musical inclinations, how he would play a guitar and sing to me. I loved how he was a skilled tradesman and great artist. I loved his family. I loved his style. I loved his experiences that took him from the depths of the ocean to the top of mountains and many places in between. I loved that he could create a delicious meal and speak to me in foreign languages. He was a passionate, skilled lover who brought me to heights I never imagined. I loved sleeping beside him, often laying awake to watch his shoulders move slightly to the deep breaths as he slept peacefully. Sometimes he would make sounds that made me swoon with adoration of his sweetness, little groans and a giggle. I wondered what he dreamed of. I loved how he would seek me out in my bed as he slept, to hold me close and kiss my head as he dozed back to sleep behind me.

We were addicted to each other. He affects me in ways I never imagined. Only now, in our forced separation, his affect on me is devastating. The coldness in his tone to me. The distance, the resentment, the contempt. It shatters my heart. The refusal to acknowledge me as the woman he loved and loved him in return. Tales of his new fun ladies, the philandering crushing my heart with his countless new lovers, the list of double standards, revisionist history that has driven me to the brink of madness.

I miss him terribly. He was my lover and it was beautiful. I try to move on and release the anger and resentment. I strive for the day when I can remember my time with him in a state of peace and thankfulness. There are days I cannot fathom it’s over and I will never see him again and I am stricken with heartbreaking grief. But failure is not an option and I will return to being that beautiful, vibrant Raven Muppet because I loved her immensely. I was proud of her. She will resurface. I wish he could see it so he could see how strong his girl really was. I will miss him until the day I die. He will always be special and always be loved. I will find the strength to be thankful for all he gave me because loving him was worth it for me. I’ve been blessed , even in the madness of our demise.

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About the Author

Raven Muppet is a divorced mother balancing single parenting, a professional career and singledom. Her stories are told from the heart, always authentic, always honest, the good, the bad and the ugly of wading her way through dating and hearbreak. Always in search of the silver lining.

Comments

Raven M: Hopefully you will read the multitude of articles on DivorcedMoms.com. Like me, beginning a year ago, you will find out that the pain you are feeling is not unknown to so many women. Does that help? Yes, because with those articles you will find out you will be okay. It’s a firestorm you’re experiencing and unfortunately you have to go through it, not around, not under or over, right smack through it.

The parts of the brain that light up with addiction are the same that light up with love, consequently what you feel is truly a physical manifestation of withdrawal, like cocaine withdrawal and it will get better. When people told me that, I didn’t believe it either, but it did and will for you too.

Just one piece of advice, don’t call yourself any nickname he gave you, Believe me, emotional manipulating men use lots of “special nicknames” for each one of their women. He probably has all sorts of names for all of them. Give yourself a new nickname, like “I Am Not Defined by Anyone Who Has Hurt Me.”

Nancy, thank you for your kindness. I had written this piece a few months back and have since healed tremendously. I love that name that he gave me because to me, it perfectly described me at my best, my strongest, my most beautiful on the inside and out and it was a woman I was proud to be. I am that woman again. Dating and happy. Healing and strong. xo